Asshole's Bride (Bad Boy Romance)

by Amy Faye

  Marie kept her lips pursed together for as long as she could. Catholics weren't exactly regarded fondly in the area, she knew. It hadn't taken long to suss that out. She might as well be godless, or a Mormon, or worship the natives' strange gods, as to be Catholic.

  It was always a matter of time before she responded, though. She couldn't simply ignore his comments, regardless how much she might have liked to, in the way that she couldn't have ignored a slap in her face.

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Bradbury, but I don't believe we've met before."

  He sneered, the implication requiring no words.

  "No, and I don't know that I would like to again, Miss Bainbridge. I only wanted to make sure that you knew that we're not going to stand for this sort of behavior. A chance to rectify yourself is the Christian thing, after all," he said, with the emphasis on 'Christian' as if she were going to be cowed by it.

  Marie scowled. Maybe Chris was right to have kept her out of it. Because she was three things, after all. First a schoolteacher, second a Catholic, and third, most troublesome of all, she was Irish.

  And the Irish in her had her blood boiling right now, whether she liked it or not.

  Twenty-Four

  There isn't a whole lot of chance that if one of the Broadmoors is in town–well, one other than himself, Chris corrected automatically–that the others are far. They certainly aren't unaware of where the rest are. He was the only one who left, the only one who'd even talked about leaving.

  So there wasn't a chance in hell that he was going to believe it when Jack Broadmoor, the crown prince of whatever the hell Chris's brothers called themselves, said he was there alone, and nobody else knew where Chris was hiding out.

  He was making an attempt, however pathetic, to calm Chris down. It wasn't going to work, and there was no way it was ever going to. The hell he'd gone through to get away from his brothers was all he needed to remember to know that there was no reason he'd ever go back, under any circumstance at all.

  None of this was a surprise. None of it could have been a surprise. Jack was as smart as a whip. He could be surprised; Chris had seen it himself, with his own eyes. More than that, he'd seen it on several occasions. But the things that would surprise Jack were things that couldn't be predicted.

  No, panic was exactly what Chris ought to have expected, and if he ought to have expected it, then he expected it, simple as that. He'd tried to play it cool, of course. Jack always tried to play things cool. So when Jack told him that he should really relax, that there was nothing to worry about and everything was fine, it was hard to guess which was the right way to go.

  Chris took a deep breath and pressed himself into his bed and closed his eyes tight. Someone else might have been able to see through the plan. He wasn't one of those people. Marie was a teacher, maybe she had a solid head for these kind of things.

  But just the same as there was no way he didn't get nervous with his brothers around, there was no way he went and explained the entire situation to Marie. She shouldn't have been involved with him at all. He wasn't going to have her any more involved than necessary if he could at all help it.

  He let out a deep breath and got up. There was time for laying around and there was time for work, and it was time for work. Luckily for Chris, he didn't have to go far.

  Unluckily for him, when the big man finally dressed and stepped through the door, trouble was already waiting for him at the bottom of the steps. Like most trouble, it didn't look immediately like trouble, and that was why Chris didn't know to avoid it.

  "Hey, man," Jim drawled. "How you doin' today?"

  The bouncer was sitting in his corner of the room, looking suitably pleased with himself in spite of having done nothing in particular to deserve it.

  "Hey yourself," Chris responded.

  He couldn't shake a vague dislike for Jim, but they spent most of every afternoon together. There was no reason to be uncivil, he reckoned. And maybe, somewhere under the veneer of lecherous idiot, there was some meat to dig into. He'd worked there for three years and hadn't seen a single hint of it, but there was still time to turn things around.

  "You heard the talk?"

  Chris checked the ice chest to make sure it was still cold, checked the taps on the kegs, but he answered all the same. "Talk? No, no talk. I've been in my room."

  "Oh yeah?" The question was entirely tone, and Chris didn't miss out on what the bouncer implied. He scowled.

  "Alone, in my room."

  "Sure. So you ain't heard then."

  "No, Jim, I ain't heard."

  "Some folks talkin' to your lady friend. The Bradburys, if I hear talk right."

  "She's a free woman, she can talk to who she likes."

  "Talk is, the conversation weren't all friendly."

  "No?"

  "Not the least bit friendly. Say the Deacon and his wife came by to say they weren't gonna let–now, I hear his exact words were, 'godless heathen bitch' and Mick swears on a stack of bibles that's what he said–get her claws into no child–"

  Chris's sneer deepened. "I'm goin' out for a bit."

  He rose and stepped out the door. He didn't have time for this. Couldn't Jack have made an appointment? After all, he had trouble to dust up. Jack was just enough more that he was going to have to figure a way to handle it all at once, and no matter how it went down, it wasn't going to be pretty.

  He leapt up a short set of stairs and inside. There were folks sitting in the pews, but no preacher sitting there talking to them. It was just as well, because apparently the distraction of Chris Broadmoor, the subject of a good deal of the town's gossip and rumor-mill, was too great.

  He rapped on the door harder than he ought to have, and when he didn't get an answer, Chris rapped on it again. The sound of movement inside was followed a moment later by the padre opening the door. When he saw Chris's face he lost the sanguine expression he'd worn opening the door.

  "Come to confess your sins?"

  "No, father. I think we ought to talk inside."

  The man's expression didn't change. He didn't particularly want to talk to Chris, and Chris didn't blame him. He didn't particularly want to talk to the preacher, either, but the situation called for it either way.

  "Fine," he said, his lips pinching together. "Make it quick."

  Chris stepped through the door. "I don't put much stock in rumor, father, so I thought I'd come and confirm with you."

  "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Broadmoor."

  "I'm sure you don't. Your deacon, Mr. Bradbury, was apparently talking all kinds of trash to the schoolteacher."

  "Mr. Bradbury's a good man," was all the pastor said. But he wasn't denying it, Chris noted. And that told him what he needed to be told.

  Twenty-Five

  Her day was only going to improve from here, Marie thought. After all, this late in the evening, there was no chance that things could get worse. With Jamie down for the night, she had a little time to read by lamplight, and then she'd spend another night on the couch.

  She was glad for having a couch at all. A suite was far more than she ought to have expected from a town like this, and especially from a room that she shouldn't even have been in. She let out a breath, wondering when, if ever, she was going to get back into the room she had paid for over Owen's. It wasn't as if she was suffering here, but how long could repairs possibly take?

  The knock at the door was soft and caught her completely by surprise. Maybe things could get worse, after all. If nothing could change, nothing could get worse. But if someone else had come to give her the business, then she wasn't in any sort of mood.

  For a long time, the schoolteacher considered ignoring the knock. A second knock came a little louder. A third might have risked waking Jamie, and she wasn't going to have that.

  Marie spent the few seconds it took to walk across the room mustering whatever indignation that she could find, and then put the lid on it and left it to simmer while she opened the door, read
y to give whoever was on the other side of it a piece of her mind.

  Chris looked as tired as she felt, and yet the second that she saw who it was, the fatigue seemed to melt away on its own.

  "Oh," she said. She didn't sound happy to see him, but the truth was that there was nobody who she'd rather have had on the other side of the door.

  "Is this a bad time?"

  "Shouldn't you be at work?"

  He looked down. "I had other things to take care of. Other people can take over."

  She'd never seen anyone else manning the counter of the saloon, though it occurred to her that she hadn't seen him doing it much, either. One of the benefits of not going into the place when she could avoid it.

  "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

  His face pinched together in a look that might have been frustration. "I've been talking to folks the past couple hours."

  "Isn't that normal?"

  "Not in this case, no."

  She wanted him to get to the point, but at the same time she knew that if he wasn't doing it now, he wasn't looking forward to whatever he was going to say next.

  "What's the problem?"

  "It's about Jamie."

  "You don't have to put any stock in them, you know," she said. Marie settled back into her seat and looked up at him.

  In the low light, Chris seemed almost larger than life, even bigger than usual. Looking up at him from where she was sitting as he paced across the room was like looking up at a Demigod, or something, she thought. Too much for any woman, certainly too much for her.

  "I wouldn't, normally."

  "Then why are you worrying now?"

  "You haven't been here long enough to make the connections, if nobody points them out." He didn't sound like he wanted to offend her, but there was a condescending edge to what he was saying that he couldn't round off in spite of himself.

  "What, you don't think I'm smart enough to know who my friends are, is that it?"

  "No–I didn't say that," he said. He looked like the comment dug in just under the skin. "You don't know who the Padre is, do you? Talk is, you haven't been to the church, so you wouldn't know, right?"

  "What's your point?" She wanted to get out of the defensive spot that she'd dug herself into, but so far she wasn't managing it. Surely he wasn't just going to bully her for no reason, but if he was going to make a point, she didn't know what it was supposed to be so far.

  "That's the whole point. I don't think you know who you're dealing with, and I know you're not fool enough to lie and say you know exactly who these folks are when you don't."

  "So what are you trying to say, then?"

  "What I'm trying to say is, if you think you can just ignore him, you're in for a very rude awakening."

  "What's so special about this preacher?"

  "His brother's the very same territorial governor that called you out here, don't you know? That's the sort of thing that causes trouble, where I'm from. Maybe you city folks–"

  Her face blanched. "So–"

  "So if he doesn't want you watching Jamie–hell, even teaching the kids–then it's not just God's ears that he's got his lips to. Exactly."

  "What do we do, then?"

  Chris let out a long breath. That was the question, wasn't it? Eventually, it had to come down to what they were supposed to do about it, and he didn't have an answer to that.

  "I don't know," he answered finally. His shoulders sagged and he leaned against the wall heavily. "That's what I've been worrying about for the past four hours."

  Marie stood up. "I'm sorry I was irritable."

  He shook his head. "Naw, I get it."

  She stepped closer and the tone of the room shifted as she got closer still, now clearly in his space. "I don't have any way to pay you back, and now this is twice you've been looking out for me."

  He looked hard at her, his eyes boring right through. "Don't do this, girl. I don't have the energy to tell you no."

  She leaned in until she could smell him, gently masculine, and then closer still, until she could feel the heat radiating off his skin.

  "Good," she whispered. "Then don't."

  Twenty-Six

  The over-eager way that she pressed her lips against his, hungry for something just around the corner, told Chris everything he needed to know about the experience the woman in front of him had before this. What she lacked in experience, she made up for in enthusiasm, though, her soft body pressed into his from the roundness of her hips to the swell of her breasts.

  Her fingers dug into his waist, trying to pull him closer. She was on the tips of her toes and even still, Chris had to lean down to let her reach. He wrapped one arm around her chest and lifted her up. Her legs immediately moved to try to set some of her weight on his hips.

  It had the side-effect of pressing her womanhood against him. He was so hard that it ached, more than just distracting. He ground his hips up into her and was rewarded with a mewling whimper. She didn't stop him, though, nor did she slow her kiss.

  Marie's tongue probed at his lips and he parted them to allow her in, his tongue dancing with hers. She was moving fast, wasn't she?

  He pulled away. "Last chance to change your mind," he breathed. It took a real force of effort to stop as long as he had.

  She answered by rocking her hips forward. "Shut up and kiss me."

  He intended to do a great deal more than that, though. He turned, her weight still suspended in his arms, and dropped her on the sofa. She bounced a little ways back up, and by the time she was settled he was beside her, working the buttons on her dress as quick as his thick fingers would allow.

  Her skirt came off easily. How many layers did these proper ladies wear, he cursed. Then a wicked idea struck him, and his hand started to trace a line up between her thighs. There was one sure way to avoid too much trouble.

  Marie was gasping for air, now, her breath coming in ragged spurts that had a little more voice to them than might have been absolutely necessary. His cock strained against his jeans, desperate to get out and join the game.

  He found her already moist. His fingers barely grazed across her lips and she jolted in surprise, her hand darting down to stop him. She stopped it as he did it again, his fingers darting between the outer lips and finding the hardened nub at the top of her womanhood.

  Her legs parted for him and he couldn't stop a smile from spreading on his face.

  "Oh, you liked that?"

  "Shut up," she said again. There was something erotic about hearing her using that kind of language.

  "I'll shut up when I please," he growled. His fingers dipped lower and promptly thrust inside.

  She didn't respond with heavy breathing or soft mewls, this time. She let out a full-throated groan of pleasure. His fingers explored the inside of her, her walls gripping him, pulling him in with the vain hope that he'll be inside long enough to complete some evolutionary need.

  She let out a soft whimper when he withdrew his hands from her skirt. She needed something more, something that she hadn't gotten yet. Chris knew exactly what that thing was, even if she didn't. And he had every intention of giving it to her.

  He worked his belt loose and opened the fly on his jeans. He settled into the place between her thighs, enjoying the way that they gripped around his hips, and lined himself up with her entrance.

  Marie's breath came hard and heavy, her eyes halfway-closed with arousal. Then he started to press in, and they shot open. He pushed the rest of the way in and held himself there for a long moment, his lips pressing against the soft skin of her neck, enjoying the feeling of her body so close to his.

  "Are you alright?"

  She didn't answer right away. She was caught somewhere, he could hear, between wanting to take shallow breaths and taking them too fast, too deep.

  "I'm alright," she said. He smiled.

  "Ready?"

  She nodded. Chris didn't need her to say it twice. His hips moved back and slammed forward again, thrusting himsel
f as deep into her as their cramped position would allow. Her arms reached around his neck and pulled tight, but he didn't stop himself.

  His movements were quick and powerful. Whatever concern for her well-being he might have had was gone, now, taking whatever he could get in order to sate his animal lust. Her voice in his ear drove him harder, faster, sending him onto the edge of madness as they fucked.

  Her legs locked around his hips, helping with each thrust to push him in deeper, to add just a bit more sharpness to the movement. He could feel his rhythm starting to slip, could feel the threat of orgasm on the horizon.

  Her body started to shake below him, her control starting to slip again as her voice got louder. It only drove him harder, only made him need her more. He could feel her clamping down on him again, sucking him in deeper and fighting every time he tried to pull away, only to welcome him in every time he pushed back inside.

  He closed his eyes and moved roughly, his mind almost completely gone, forcing himself into her all the way to the hilt as his own orgasm exploded through him, filling her to the brim. As the haze of need started to clear he could hear her heavy breathing below him, the way that her breasts, under her blouse, rose and fell as she gasped for air.

  His lips pressed against hers. Chris Broadmoor's entire life, it seemed, had been mistakes up to this point. This time, he'd made the right decision.

  It was Marie who had made the mistake. His kissed her again. He wasn't going to tell her that, though. Not if he could help it.

  Twenty-Seven

  Marie's night was a blur, or a haze. She hadn't figured out which, yet, but overlayed over the top of it was the night that she'd had before, the memory of all the things she'd done, what she'd said, and–

  She resigned herself to the fact that she had sinned. That was the first step. She knew better, and she knew that she was going to pay for what she'd done. If she could at least confess, that would be something, but she couldn't.